


C is for Calculus and Compromise

by heydoeydoey



Category: Gifted (Movie 2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Custody Battle, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Divorce, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Gifted AU no one asked for featuring:, a serious failure to communicate (obviously)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heydoeydoey/pseuds/heydoeydoey
Summary: Steve's just trying to give his prodigy daughter a normal childhood. Enter a meddling school administrator, Tony Stark, and too many lawyers.





	C is for Calculus and Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This was very fun to write, and given it's the first thing I've actually finished in almost three years, I'm maybe a little stupidly in love with it, even its dumb title. Unbetaed, so any mistakes are mine.

“I don’t wanna.” Steve can hear the pout in his daughter’s voice through the door, knows she’s gearing up to have the same argument they’ve been having for three weeks now, ever since the calendar rolled over to August and Steve took her shopping for a backpack and a lunchbox and the reality of going to school truly sank in.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Steve taps on the door with his knuckles again. “I made breakfast. Your favorite.”

The door cracks open, just enough for Peggy to stick her blonde head out, her big blue eyes looking up at him skeptically. Genetics, Steve thinks, are a doozy. They used to laugh about it, how she looked nothing like they’d expected her to. They’d imagined dark hair and dark eyes and instead they got the opposite. Even so, her skeptical expression is one he recognizes all too well, but at least she comes by it honestly. That one’s all nurture.

“You burned them last time.”

“Well, I didn’t this time.”

She comes the rest of the way out of the room, wearing a red floral dress he knows Natasha helped her pick out. Natasha probably helped her choose the right shoes too, probably black Mary-Janes or something, because she’s nothing if not thorough, but Peggy’s wearing her favorites instead, the clunky high top sneakers she wears with just about everything. She’s gonna outgrow them soon, and then Steve’s going to be SOL because they found them in a secondhand store in Bed-Stuy and he doesn’t think they’re likely to find an identical pair anywhere else.

He puts a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of her, and she glares at him but shoves a few bites in her mouth anyway.

“Why can’t I stay home with you?” Peggy whines, half-heartedly pushing a bite of pancake through the puddle of syrup on her plate. 

“Because I have to go to work.”

She huffs, annoyed. “That’s lame. You work in the _living room_.”

“Margaret.” He says, knowing it comes out frustrated and harsh, but he’s unable to have this conversation again.

She finishes her breakfast in stony silence and stomps to the door when he tells her it’s time to go. She shoves her arms into the shoulder straps of her backpack and stands waiting at the door while he pulls on his boots, tying the laces quickly. 

He wants to take a picture of her, scowling at the door in her dress and her sneakers, the blue camo backpack she picked out nearly as big as she is (definitely comically big for a first-grader, but she’d looked up at him with hopeful eyes and it had been on sale, so he figures she can grow into it). He knows she’ll melt down if he takes a picture though, so he doesn’t, just looks at her for a long second to remember exactly this moment so maybe he can draw it later if he has time. 

PS 8 is close enough for them to walk to, and he can tell—for all her complaining and insistence of the last three weeks that school is for idiots—Peggy is nervous from the way she clings to his hand for the duration of the walk. She signs hello to Clint but doesn’t pet Lucky when they pass them on the sidewalk and Clint shoots him a reassuring look. 

In the hallway outside her classroom, Steve crouches down to his daughter’s eye level.

“Promise you’ll take care of Nick Furry?” Steve wants to laugh, and tell her that she’ll be gone all of eight hours, seven and a half of which Nick will be asleep. But her lip is wobbling precariously, so he just nods.

“Promise.” 

She throws her arms around his neck and squeezes tightly. 

“I’ll be right here when you’re done. Have fun. Try to be a kid.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but lets him nudge her through the doorway. He waits for a second, watching her teacher, a tall, pretty blonde with her hair in a ponytail, say hello and point Peggy to her seat. When he’s satisfied she’s not going to lose it, he turns back against the tide of parents and anxious kids and heads for home. 

Natasha’s door is half open when he walks past, and he sticks his head in. She’s at her kitchen table, reading the paper and ignoring the repeated beeping from her phone. 

“I still think this is a bad idea. You don’t put a kid you’re trying to hide in the public school system, Steve.”

Steve sighs. He and Natasha go back to his army days, and he’s never truly gotten a full picture of what she did, only knows she was mostly black ops. He doesn’t actually know what she does now, for that matter. He figures it’s probably better not to, otherwise she’d just tell him.

“I’m not trying to hide her.” He says, for at least the tenth time. “This has never been about hiding her, just protecting her.”

“Yes,” Natasha says, and even the way she turns the page of her paper is passive aggressive. “I’m sure she’ll be very protected down at PS 8.”

“I need to get to work,” he says, pushing off of Natasha’s doorframe and turning back to his own apartment. 

Nick Furry is lounging on the kitchen table, exactly where he’s not supposed to be, but Steve doesn’t have the heart to shoo him off. He pours himself a second cup of coffee and takes it into the living room. The drafting table that dominates about half of the room is pretty much the only thing he brought with him when he and Peggy moved back to Brooklyn.

It’s too big for the room, but it didn’t matter when Peggy was seven months old. It’s starting to matter now that she’s almost seven years old and space is at a premium. He sleeps on the pullout sofa and his clothes live in the hall closet, having ceded the bedroom to Peggy when she outgrew her crib. It’s not going to work forever. He figures he has until she’s in middle school to figure out how to afford a two-bedroom (and ideally a two-bathroom).

He sets his coffee down and stands at the table, looking over the concept art he’s doing for a local developer. It’s dull, mind-numbing work but it pays the bills.  

He’s put in maybe two hours of work when his phone rings, and he knows without having to look that it’s going to be the school.

“Steve Rogers,” he says into the phone. 

“Mr. Rogers, this is Ellen Hawley. I’m the principal here at Margaret’s school.”

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Hawley?”

“Well, I have Margaret here in my office. It seems she got a little overwhelmed in class today and we think it would be wise if you came to pick her up.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

When he gets back to the school, Peggy is sitting in a chair outside the principal’s office, her feet swinging off the ground. 

“Hey Dad,” she says, smug like she thinks she’s pulled one over on him.

“Don’t you ‘hey dad’ me,” he shakes his head at her. “Wait here while I go talk to the principal, okay?”

“Okay.”

Principal Hawley is a stern-faced woman with a severe blonde bob. She gestures for Steve to have a seat and he does, flashing back to the probably hundreds of times he’d ended up in his own principal’s office in school, for mouthing off to his teacher or getting into a fist-fight or cutting class with Bucky.

“What happened?” He asks, glancing through the window to the outer office. All he can see is the top of Peggy’s head.

“It’s just as I explained on the phone, Mr. Rogers. She got overwhelmed and asked…loudly that we call you to come get her.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“This is Margaret’s first day in a traditional school setting, correct?” Mrs. Hawley has a file open on her desk, surprisingly thicker than he’d expect for a first-grader.

“Yeah. I tried homeschooling last year, but she needs to be around kids her own age.”

“It’s understandable that she’ll need some adjustment time, then. You can help at home by talking about what to expect in classroom settings. It will help her feel more secure.”

“Right. Sure. Thanks, ma’am.”

The corners of her mouth turn down, and Steve knows not to call her ma’am again. Peggy jumps out of her seat when he comes out of the principal’s office, and skips next to him as they walk down the hallway toward the exit. 

He can hear the clip-clop of high heeled shoes on the linoleum floor and doesn’t think anything of it, except Peggy looks behind them and pulls a face.

“Ugh, it’s my teacher. Probably wants to remind me what one plus one is.”

Steve groans internally. He should’ve _known_. 

“Excuse me, sorry.” 

He turns and comes face to face with the tall blonde from this morning. She looks exactly how a first grade teacher should, and she smiles politely at him. “Sorry to chase you down, I’m Peggy’s teacher. Sharon.”

“Steve. Peg, why don’t you go out to the playground.”

Peggy looks thrilled to be given a reprieve from talking with her teacher, and pushes out the doors to go play. Steve follows so he can stand on the steps and watch her. Sharon comes outside as well, although she holds the door open with her foot.

“Sorry, my keys are on my desk. This’ll just take a minute.”

“I’m sorry about today,” Steve says. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh. No…that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I think Peggy may be gifted.”

Steve winces internally. Natasha was right, this was a bad idea. “No, no—

“No, really. She was doing some really advanced math—

“Trachtenberg.” Steve says, clinging desperately to the excuse he came up with a year or so ago when Peggy had gotten the attention of one of their neighbors down the hall, a statistics professor at Columbia. She’d moved since, thank god, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before somebody else cottons on.

“Sorry?”

“The Trachtenberg method. It’s a way of solving complex math problems quickly.”

“She’s seven.”

Steve shrugs. “I learned when I was eight.” He’s a terrible liar, so he keeps talking like maybe that will distract from it. “It’s not so common anymore, now that everybody has a calculator on their phone. But you can still win a drink in a bar with it.”

“Right.” Sharon says, frowning now.

“Anyway, we should go. It was nice to meet you, Sharon.”

“You too, Steve.”

* * *

 

“I told you school is dumb.” Peggy says, and Steve watches a glob of mustard drip from her hot dog onto the front of her dress. 

“Peg,” he sighs heavily, and swipes at it with a napkin. “Do me a favor, okay? Just give it a chance.”

“Why?”

 _Because I’m terrified you won’t have a normal life if you don’t_ , he thinks. 

“Because I think you’ll like it, if you try,” he says.

She chews contemplatively on another bite of hot dog. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Ease up on the math showing off.”

“I know, I know. Nobody likes a smart ass.”

* * *

Steve gets about three weeks of normalcy, Peggy goes to school mostly without complaint, brings Nick Furry for Show and Tell one day (Steve’d helped her rehearse the Tell part, removed the curse-words from the story about Nick Furry’s namesake, one of Steve’s former COs), makes a friend named Peter, manages to avoid antagonizing her teacher, and supplements her homework with college-level textbooks borrowed from the public library. For the last couple years it’s just been math, but lately she’s started asking for books on physics and engineering and Steve shouldn’t be surprised when she spends a night talking to him (or at him, really) about string theory.

On Fridays she goes to Natasha’s and Steve goes for a drink, usually with Clint. Sometimes he thinks about picking somebody up, but usually ends up thinking better of it. He doesn’t want to bring anybody back to his place, and even when Peggy spends the night on Natasha’s couch Steve doesn’t like to be far away.

It’s a typical Wednesday when his phone rings, and he’s expecting a call from a client so when he answers the phone he’s surprised to hear Principal Hawley on the other end. Her tone is grave when she tells him Peggy hit another student with a textbook (and Steve wonders grimly if it was the physics textbook he couldn’t find this morning when he wanted to go renew it at the library) and asks him to come in right away.

He jogs to PS 8, makes it there in about eight minutes, and finds Peggy sitting in the same chair, looking far less smug than the last time.

“Hey,” he crouches in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

This time, Principal Hawley has Sharon in the room with her, and a woman she introduces at the assistant principal, Maria Hill.

Hawley bullshits him about expelling Peggy, and it takes all Steve has not to roll his eyes. He had little patience for school administrators when he was a student, and it seems he has even less now.

“Margaret’s teacher believes she has an incredible mathematic ability,” Hawley says. “And I do not think PS 8 is going to be able to meet her scholastic needs. Today’s incident is a perfect example of what happens when gifted children are not appropriately challenged. Now, Ms. Hill is good friends with the director of admissions at Xavier Institute.”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. 

“Mr. Rogers,” Ms. Hill frowns. “Margaret deserves to be in a school that will challenge her abilities.”

“I looked at Xavier. It’s a great school.” Steve admits. “But that’s forty thousand dollars a year I don’t have, and it’s in Westchester.”

“There are scholarships.”

“I know what schools like that are like, what they do to people. She’s not even seven. Right now she needs to be around other kids.”

They don’t like that, Steve can tell. But Peggy deserves better than to end up in some think tank when she’s fifteen, a genius with no idea how to function in the real world. He wants her to have something resembling a _normal_ life.

* * *

“How much trouble am I in?” Peggy asks, sitting on his shoulders for their walk home, playing the game he made up she she was four and he was teaching her how to navigate their neighborhood where she steers him by tugging on his ears.

“With me? A little.”

“And school?”

“A lot, probably.” Steve sighs. “It’s never okay to hit people, Peg.”

“I know.” Peggy looks down at her shoes. “But that kid was being so mean to Peter, and Peter’s project was the best of anyone’s. I hate bullies.”

“Me too. And, to tell you the truth, I hit a bully or two in my day.”

Steve figures he doesn’t need to mention how many, nor does he need to admit how few of those fights he actually won.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It’s not something I’m proud of. Hitting people doesn’t ever solve any problems, it usually just makes more.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Peggy says dramatically, and Steve laughs. 

* * *

Two weeks later, there’s a shiny black car outside their apartment when they get home from school. The door swings open as they approach, and Steve recognizes Pepper Potts, although her hair is blonder than it used to be.

“Who’s that?” Peggy looks at Pepper, wide eyed.

“Peg, go up to Natasha’s, okay?”

Peggy looks ready to argue but she sees the look on Steve’s face and takes him seriously for once. 

“Steve,” Pepper smiles tightly at him.

“It’s nice to see you, Pepper.” Steve says. “Promise I won’t shoot the messenger. What does he want?”

Pepper reaches into the car and pulls out a bag. Steve recognizes the Stark Industries logo. There’s a computer inside the bag, nicer than anything they own. It would probably cost two months’ rent, at least. 

Then again, knowing Tony, it’s more likely a priceless, custom job.

“It’s for Peggy.”

“Yeah, tell him thanks but no thanks. He can’t buy his way back in.” Steve snaps.

“What was that you said a second ago about not shooting the messenger?”

“Sorry.”

“Please take it, Steve. You know he’ll just keep sending me back with bigger and more extravagant things.”

“Tell him we’re holding out for a piano, then.”

Pepper pulls out her phone to make a note.

“No, don’t. That was a joke. We don’t have the space for a piano.” Steve looks down at the computer in his hands. “Why now?”

Pepper sighs. “A nosy school administrator did some digging, made a few calls. I was in Los Angeles for a board meeting and some intern passed the message directly to Tony without vetting it through anyone.”

Hawley. Steve could kill her. And the intern. And Tony, for that matter.

“What was the message?”

Pepper grimaces. “She’s a prodigy. Her best interests are not being looked after. Tony wants—

“Tony can go fuck himself.”

“Steve, please just meet him for lunch.”

“Surprised he doesn’t want to get drinks instead.”

“He’s sober.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

“He says he can come here. Save you the trip.”

Steve considers agreeing, just for the sake of making Tony come to Brooklyn. But he doesn’t want Tony anywhere near Peggy until he’s got a better idea of what Tony actually wants, so he shakes his head. “No, I’ll meet him, but not here. I’ll come to the tower or whatever bullshit restaurant in Manhattan is his favorite right now.”

“I’ll send you the details.” Pepper nods. She slides smoothly back into the car. “I miss you, Steve.”

“You, too.” Steve says, surprised to find he actually means it.

* * *

“You didn’t even make it six weeks without him finding you.” Natasha says.

“He didn’t find us. That principal basically put neon signs over our heads. He wasn’t looking.”

He glances over at Peggy, who’s throwing ping pong balls for Nick and reading up on the Large Hadron Collider. Tony’s computer is still where he shoved it this afternoon, underneath his sweaters on the high shelf of the hall closet.

“Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.” Natasha frowns.

“Worse, I think.” 

Worse, definitely. Steve hasn’t been hiding. He came back to his old neighborhood, literally two streets over from where he was living when he and Tony met. He didn’t change his name, or Peggy’s, still has the same phone number, his business has a goddamn website. Short of sending a postcard, he’s done just about everything he could to make it so Tony can reach out if he wants to.

He’s never wanted to, not until some principal with visions of a hefty donation from the Stark Foundation called him to tell him his daughter’s a genius.

 

“Dad?” Peggy asks him later, when he’s tucking her into bed. 

“Yeah, Peg?”

“Was that lady this afternoon my mom?”

Steve almost laughs at the idea, but Peggy’s looking up at him with anxious, solemn eyes. “No.”

“Where is my mom?”

Steve sighs. She’s never been very curious about this before, and when she was younger it never seemed to faze her that there was just him. But he figured it was only a matter of time, especially now that she’s in school with other kids, hearing most of them talk about their families that look different from hers.

“You don’t have a mom, kiddo. Not the way a lot of kids do.”

Peggy frowns. “She didn’t want me?”

“Move over,” Steve says and Peggy scoots, giving him room to climb into the bed. She curls up next to him, her arm around Nick and her head on Steve’s chest. “A long time ago, before you were born, I was married.”

“Really? To my mom?”

“No.” Steve braces himself. “To your other dad.” Peggy doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “We decided we wanted a baby,” he nudges her with his elbow, “and since it’s a little harder for two dads to make that happen—

“How?”

“Well, there was a woman named Maya, and she helped people like me and Tony who couldn’t have a baby by themselves.”

“And she’s my mom?”

“Sort of. Biologically.”

“She had the egg,” Peggy says sagely. 

“Yes.” Steve says. 

“And you had the sperm.”

Steve groans, “When did you start reading about human biology?”

“There was a documentary. Natasha and I watched it.”

“Of course you did.” Steve figures in for a penny, in for a pound. “We don’t know whose sperm.”

(Or they didn’t then, and then when her hair started to come in blonde they figured they knew. But Steve’s got a better idea now, has since Peggy learned multiplication tables at the same time she was learning to read.)

Peggy pulls a face, because she’s a genius but she’s also six. “So you mixed them together? Gross.”

“ _We_ didn’t. A doctor did. And then nine months later, we had you.”

“What about Maya?”

“I’m not sure. She was about to start her Ph.D. then. She might be done with that now.”

“And my other dad? Tony?”

Steve kisses the top of Peggy’s head. “That’s the sad part of this story.”

“Did he die?”

“No.” Sometimes, in the middle of the night when his worries keep him awake, a dark part of him thinks that would’ve been easier. Easier to explain, anyway. “He didn’t. But he wasn’t very well, and he couldn’t take care of you or me like we needed. So we moved here, and Tony and I aren’t married anymore.”

“And he doesn’t want me.” Peggy says flatly.

“We both wanted you so, so much, Peggy. I promise you.”

“But he doesn’t want me _now_.”

“I don’t know what he wants now. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“Who was that lady today?”

“Oh. Her name is Pepper. She’s a friend of Tony’s. She brought you something.”

“Me?”

“A present. From Tony. A computer.”

Peggy frowned. “I don’t think I want it.”

“That’s okay. I’ll hold onto it in case you change your mind.”

She hugs Nick tighter, and the cat lets out a slightly alarmed meow. 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Peg. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

Tony’s barely aged since the last time Steve saw him. His eyes are clear and his hands seem steady, so maybe Pepper was right about him being sober. Whether or not it sticks is another story.

Steve meets him in his office, in the fancy tower that was only halfway built when Steve left. He takes the coffee Pepper brings him and sits down opposite Tony’s desk and tries to ignore the warm feeling that spreads through him, seeing Tony again. 

Steve had hoped to be indifferent, to be over it, but he’s not. Not loving Tony was never the problem. 

“I, uh.” Tony says, looking at his hands. “I got an interesting phone call.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“I guess we guessed wrong.”

“We don’t know that for sure. Maya had more than her share of brains to go around, too.” Steve shrugs. But he knows. Of course he knows. He’s raising a mini-Tony. 

“You can’t keep her in that school.”

“You forfeited the right to an opinion about six years ago.”

“I didn’t forfeit anything. You left.”

“I didn’t see what other choice I had.”

There’s a water bottle on Tony’s desk, one of those insulated metal ones everyone is carrying now, and Tony grips it tightly enough Steve can see his knuckles go white. He lets go of it a second later and drags his hand over his face.

“Maybe not.” Tony concedes. “But if that idiot principal is even half right, she needs to be in a better school.”

Steve shakes his head. “She was six months old the last time you saw her. You have no idea what she needs.”

“When it comes to her education, I think I have a better idea than you.”

Steve remembers a lot from his marriage, but he forgot this. He forgot that Tony goes for the jugular, every time. And Steve’s never been one to pull his punches, especially when he’s fighting back.

“You might know more about fancy private schools and college, but I know our daughter.” His throat catches and Tony looks away, a muscle working in his jaw. “I won’t send her to Xavier so she can finish high school at ten and go to MIT when she’s twelve and spend the rest of her life working in some lab and never talking to normal people.”

Tony takes that one on the chin, and looks at Steve with hard eyes. “If it’s about the money, Steve, you know I’m good for it.”

“Fuck you, Tony.” Steve slams the office door on his way out, and ignores Pepper calling after him. 

Once he’s out on the sidewalk, he gets out his phone and scrolls quickly through his contacts.

“Sam,” he says, when his friend picks up. “I think I’m gonna need a lawyer.”

* * *

“I told you so.” Natasha says. 

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, looking down at the summons. “You did.”

* * *

Tony has three lawyers, each in suits that probably cost triple what Steve has in savings.

Steve has Sam, who stood up for Steve at their wedding _and_ handled their divorce and usually works with foster kids. 

“I’m the full-service best man,” Sam had joked the day Steve called him, Peggy crying in the background because she was cutting another tooth, and asked him if he could draw up divorce papers.

Judge Pierce looks down at the file in front of him. “Dad…and dad. Really? You sure you guys don’t want to just go settle this in the hallway?”

Steve glares at Tony. 

“All right.”

One of Tony’s lawyers stands. “Your honor, my client seeks full custody of his daughter, Margaret Stark Rogers, on the basis that Steven Rogers is not providing adequate care nor taking her best interests into consideration. She is an incredibly gifted child currently being taught at the first grade level. Additionally, their home is a five-hundred square foot walkup in Brooklyn with only one bedroom. Mr. Rogers runs his business from their living room. The building is currently falling into disrepair. Mr. Rogers has also denied Mr. Stark contact with their daughter for five years.” 

“Mr. Wilson,” the judge looks at Sam, who stands and buttons his jacket. 

“Your honor, Mr. Rogers has been Margaret’s primary caregiver for _six_ years and removed her from the Stark-Rogers residence when it became clear that Mr. Stark’s alcoholism was having a negative effect on their child and jeopardizing her safety. He has never actively denied Mr. Stark access; this is the first occasion Mr. Stark has sought it. As for their home…I’ve been there myself, multiple times. It is more than adequate, and this is New York City. Show me a family that _doesn’t_ have to get creative with square-footage.”

The judge sighs. “Last chance to settle this between yourselves, before this starts costing everyone a lot of money. No? Okay.”

Tony’s lawyer stands again. “Your honor, my client requests visitation rights for the duration of proceedings.”

“Granted.” Pierce says, and bangs his gavel. 

* * *

“Do I have to?” Peggy asks, standing on the sidewalk next to Steve, Stark Tower looming over them.

“The court says you do.”

“But why?”

“Because he’s your dad, too, and they think he deserves to see you.”

“Doesn’t what I think matter?”

“Not until you’re eighteen.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Nope.” Steve agrees. “It’s not.”

“What happens if I don’t go?”

“I get in trouble.” 

Peggy sighs. “Fine.”

Steve walks her into the lobby, where a bored receptionist is snapping her gum. He gives his name, she checks a list, and hands him a fob from inside one of the drawers of her desk. “Penthouse,” she says. “You’ll need that to bypass the public floors.”

The elevator is the kind that moves so quickly and silently it doesn’t feel like it’s moving at all, and Steve is surprised when the doors slide open directly into an apartment. 

Tony is sitting on the couch, looking anxious.

Pepper is pacing behind it, looking annoyed.

Peggy does something she hasn’t since she was a toddler: clinging to Steve’s leg and hiding behind it. 

Tony gets to his feet and walks over. He crouches, and Peggy hides her face in Steve’s jeans. 

“Hi,” Tony says. “I’m Tony.”

“Peg,” Steve nudges her.

“Nice to meet you,” Peggy mumbles. Tony’s face falls, just for a second; of course it does. He met her the moment she was born. She’d gone straight from the doctor’s hands to Tony’s arms. 

“Let’s put your stuff in your room.” Steve suggests, and Tony points down the hall. Steve’s stomach twists, because he remembers the blueprints for this apartment, remembers them deciding Peggy should have a room with a great view and a lot of light, and when he walks through the doorway that’s exactly what he finds. 

The walls are painted sky blue, and the carpet is thick and plush. The bed in the middle is stupidly big for a six-year-old, so Steve wonders if this is a hastily converted guest room. He sets Peggy’s bag on the bed, and his eyes land on—

“A piano!” Peggy runs to the corner of the room and immediately starts bashing away at the keys.

“I’d be annoyed with Pepper,” Steve says, “but I think you’ll come to regret this decision in about twenty minutes, and listening to the musical stylings of a tone-deaf six-year-old for an entire weekend is punishment enough.”

Tony sighs. “I didn’t have a lot to go on, Steve.”

 _Whose fault is that_ , Steve wants to say. But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to fight in front of Peggy.

“I know. She’s clearly thrilled, so score one for you.”

Tony looks like he wants to snipe back, but he resists too. Interesting.

“Peg, c’mere.” Peggy slams on the piano keys a few more times and then comes over to Steve. She looks shyly at Tony, although some of her initial resentment has faded with the discovery of the piano.

“I’ll see you on Sunday, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Have fun with Tony.” Steve hugs her tightly. 

“Love you,” she says in his ear.

“Love you too.” He kisses the top of her head, smells the artificial grape shampoo she picked out last time they went shopping, and leaves before he gives in to the urge to pick her up and carry her out with him.

* * *

“You look like shit.” Clint says, and Natasha swats the back of his head.

“It’s the kid’s first weekend with Tony.” She says, and Clint winces. 

“Right. Sorry.”

Steve shrugs. “Looking like shit is a step above how I feel, so I guess I come out on top, right?”

Natasha and Clint share a glance, and Steve suspects something is going on between them. He figures they’re not telling him because of Bucky, and because he’s got enough going on fighting for custody of his daughter. Natasha doesn’t want him grappling with the idea of his best friend’s girl moving on, also.

If she would just tell him, though, he’d say it’s about time. He’d almost mean it, too. Bucky died almost ten years ago.

Bucky died only a few months after Steve met Tony, had been around long enough to give Steve a lot of shit about dating a billionaire, but not long enough for Steve to work out whether Bucky actually liked Tony or not, maybe not even long enough for Bucky himself to work it out. Steve had been adrift, losing Bucky, and Tony had been his only port in the storm. 

Steve drains his drink, mostly to put a stop to that particular line of thought, and goes to the bar for a refill. It’s crowded, and when he gets to the bar he recognizes the blonde sitting at one of the stools.

“Oh, hey.” He says, and she looks at him. He can see it takes her a second to place him before she smiles. 

“Steve, hi.”

“Sharon, right?”

“Yes. Peggy’s teacher.”

The stool next to her opens up, and he sits, waiting on the bartender. “I remembered that much. Although this is kind of how it used to feel to run into my own teachers outside school.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Do you?” Steve grins.

Sharon laughs. “No. I almost never run into my students’ parents in bars.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Listen, Steve,” Sharon looks at him seriously. “I heard Ellen bragging the other day about some custody case, and then I heard it was yours. I’m so sorry. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Thanks. I figured it was her. People see Tony’s name on anything and just see dollar signs, you know? He hasn’t been involved in Peggy’s life since she was a baby.” He sighs. “Until now, I guess. It’s Peggy’s first weekend with Tony. My lawyer advised I get drunk.”

“He sounds like a good lawyer.”

“He is.”

“Are you all right?” Sharon asks, and then looks down at her drink. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You just seem like you could use a friend.”

Steve finally gets the bartender’s attention and orders his refill. He doesn’t go back to his table, though, because a quick glance over his shoulder tells him Clint and Natasha are engrossed in conversation, heads together, and while he knows at least part of that is Clint’s hearing, he also doesn’t feel like going back and playing third wheel.

“Are you allowed to be friends with your students’ parents?” Steve teases instead.

Sharon grins. “It hasn’t happened before, but you never know. And if you’re trying to get drunk,” she eyes his beer skeptically, “that’s definitely not going to cut it.”

Several shots later, Steve’s not proud of how easily the story spills out of him. “Tony…well, his lawyer anyway, accused me of denying him access to Peggy. And I never did, but I didn’t ever reach out, either. Tony was a mess when I left. Sobriety has always been a challenge for him, but I believed he’d gotten sober when we got married. I still don’t know if that’s bullshit or if he fell off the wagon at the same time we decided to bring a fucking baby into the mix, but it fell apart pretty fast when Peggy was six months old and I couldn’t trust that Tony could stay sober enough to take care of her. I’d been in the studio late one night—I was an artist then, trying to show work in a gallery somewhere—and I came home to find Peggy crying and crying and Tony was just…passed out on the couch. She had a fever, I took her to the ER, and when we got home the next morning, I packed our things and left.”

“Jesus.” Sharon takes another shot from the ones lined up in front of her. 

“I used to worry that I’d done the wrong thing.” Steve shakes his head. “Hell, I still worry I did the wrong thing. I know he needed me.”

“Peggy needed you more.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “But sometimes I think she’s gonna need _him_ one day more than she needs me. He’s going to be able to understand her in a way I never can. She already understands more than I ever even _learned_.”

“Steve.”

“I still don’t agree with him. She needs to be a kid. Nobody ever let him be a kid and look how he…” Steve sighs. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear about this.”

“I know a lot of kids, Steve. And a lot of parents. Peggy is one of the great ones, and that means you’re doing something right. A lot of things right, probably.”

Steve doesn’t think that’s going to matter to the judge.

* * *

“Daddy!” Peggy leaps out of the backseat of the car and flings herself at him, jumping with enthusiasm. “We built a robot!”

“A robot?”

“Yeah! Well, it’s not done yet but Tony says we can work on it next time.”

Tony busies himself with sliding Nick Furry’s cat carrier out of the car and picking up Peggy’s backpack. 

“What does it do?” Steve asks.

“Nothing yet. But I want to teach it to take care of Nick, so he’s not lonely when I’m at school. We tried to teach Dummy and Butterfingers and You but Tony says you can’t teach and old robot new tricks.” Peggy stops jumping and frowns up at him. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad,” Steve lies. “I missed you, that’s all.” He squeezes her to his side in a hug. 

“You too,” she says cheerfully, wriggling out of his hug to free Nick from his crate. “Bye Tony, see you in two weeks!”

Then she’s skipping up the stairs, surely off to find Natasha and tell her all about building robots with Tony.

Steve takes the empty cat crate and Peggy’s backpack from Tony. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Steve says, about as civilly as he can manage.

“Steve, wait.” Tony slides his hands into his pockets and then takes them out again like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “She’s amazing.”

“I know.” Steve says softly. “She always has been.”

Tony looks ready to say more, and Steve’s surprised to find he’s disappointed when he slides into the car instead. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

* * *

Being in court against Tony is like pouring salt into an open wound, over and over again. No, not salt. Acid.

“Do you have health insurance?” Tony’s lawyer asks.

No.

“Does Margaret’s school believe her needs are being met?”

No. 

“Did you and Mr. Stark ever agree on a formal custody plan?”

No.

“Did you and Mr. Stark have a prenuptial agreement?”

No.

“Is it true that Mr. Stark exclusively covered the cost of the egg donor, in vitro fertilization, and all medical bills for the surrogate?”

Yes.

“Is it true that Margaret is Mr. Stark’s biological child?”

Steve looks over at Tony, who can’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know.”  

“Could you make an educated guess?”

“Objection,” Sam stands. “Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

“Mr. Rogers, were you arrested last year for assault?”

Jesus. “Those charges were dropped.”

“But you were arrested?”

“Yes.” Steve grits his teeth. “Some drunk idiot in a bar came at me swinging. I fought back.”

“No further questions.”

Somehow, it’s worse being questioned by Sam, who asks him kindly to explain what happened the night he left Tony, the reasons he knew he couldn’t leave his daughter in Tony’s care anymore. 

Steve thinks if Tony could become invisible he probably would, so miserable does he look sitting between his lawyers. He can’t help thinking back to the day Peggy was born, when he and Tony had sat in the nursery with her. She’d looked so small in Tony’s arms, and Tony had been equal parts terrified and overjoyed, holding their daughter.

They’d named her after Tony’s favorite aunt, a firecracker of a woman Steve had met a handful times before she passed, who had wholeheartedly approved of Steve. And they’d given her Sarah for a middle name, for Steve’s mom, who probably would’ve taken some time to warm to Tony, but she would have, eventually. 

“I hate this,” Steve says, as they leave the courtroom for the day. 

“I know, man,” Sam agrees. “But either we fight just as hard as them, or you lose your kid.”

“That’s it? There’s no option C?’

“Well, you both took compromise off the table in the first hearing. That’s the only option C I know about.”

* * *

“Hey Dad,” Peggy nudges his leg with her foot. It’s a Sunday night and they’re watching _Ice Age_ , a permanent favorite. 

“Yeah, Peg?”

“Do you think I could look at the computer from Tony? He said he put some stuff on there. Like cool problems.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I told you I’d hang onto it for you.”

He goes to the hall closet and pulls it out. Peggy’s face lights up when he hands it to her, and she lifts the lid eagerly. It comes alive with a cheerful ding. Steve half expects to hear Jarvis’ voice come through the speakers, but maybe Tony realized it would be crossing a major boundary to load the computer up with his AI.

Peggy clicks through some options, and instead of seeing screen filled with long lists of numbers and Greek symbols, he’s looking at his own face. Sam has his arm flung around Steve’s shoulders and they’re both grinning at the camera. 

“When is this from?” Peggy asks.

Steve recognizes his tux. Not that it’s especially hard, he never wore a tuxedo before he started dating Tony. “Tony’s and my wedding.”

“Really? Sam was there?”

“He was my best man.”

Peggy hits the right arrow key, and the picture changes to one of Steve and Tony. They’re dancing, although both of them have their heads thrown back laughing. Then one of Tony and Rhodey; then one of the goofy wedding party shots Tony had insisted on, him and Tony flanked by Sam and Rhodey; then one with Pepper and Natasha in the mix for balance.

“Natasha!”

Peggy keeps scrolling, and Steve never realized how many pictures the two of them had taken over the years. There are pictures from their honeymoon, pictures from lazy Saturdays at home, pictures from Fourth of July with their friends.

“You’re so happy.” Peggy says, grinning at a picture of Steve and Tony and Thor and Bruce on the beach. He thinks its the Hamptons, maybe from Thor’s bachelor party. Steve has his arms wrapped around Tony’s shoulders, and Tony is leaning back against him, both of them smiling more at each other than for the camera. “And sunburned. That’s not fair. You always make me wear sunscreen.”

“Yeah, well, I learned my lesson.”

Peggy hits the arrow key again, and Steve sucks in a surprised breath. Tony, sprawled out on their couch, baby Peggy asleep on his chest, his hand curled protectively over her little back. He remembers taking the picture himself, coming home from an early morning run to find them both asleep. 

“Is that me?” Peggy squints at the screen.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You were maybe…two months old?”

“I’m so little.”

“You were little. Only six and half pounds when you were born, and seventeen inches long.”

“Nick weighs more than that!”

“I know.” Steve laughs. “You never used to sleep. Your dad and I used to take turns walking you all around our apartment, and sometimes we’d put you in your stroller and walk you through the park at night. I think I took this picture because I was so surprised to see you asleep and stationary.”

“You never call him that.”

“Hmmm?”

“Tony. You never call him my dad.”

“Sorry. I won’t.”

“No. It’s okay. I don’t mind it.” Peggy closes out the window with he pictures. “I’m gonna do some math now.”

“Okay, kiddo.”

Later, after he’s tucked her into bed, Steve opens the computer again, looking for the picture he’s sure has to be there. 

It is. Pepper had taken it. Steve and Tony and Peggy, the day they brought her home from the hospital. She is tiny in Steve’s arms, just a bundle of blankets with a face and a pink hat. Tony stands in front of him, his hands on Steve’s elbows, both of them looking down at her. Steve remembers that feeling, that day, remembers thinking he’d never need anything but the two of them. 

He closes the computer sharply and sets it aside. _Don’t_ , he thinks.

* * *

If Steve thought his own testimony was bad, Tony’s is much, _much_ worse. Sam gives him no quarter, asks about how many times he’s been to rehab (three), how many times he’s fallen off the wagon (more than that), how long has he been sober now (four years, eight months, four days—and Steve counts that back to right around Peggy’s second birthday), can he even remember the morning Steve left (no). 

Sam asks about Tony’s PTSD, whether he’s in therapy, if he takes medication.

Then Sam asks the question Steve has been dreading, the question Steve never actually wants an answer to. 

“Mr. Stark, your daughter has been less than ten miles away for the last six years. Mr. Rogers did not change his phone number and has a listed address. Throughout your divorce proceedings, you never petitioned for any kind of custody of Margaret. You haven’t sought contact with her for nearly seven years. Why now?”

Tony grimaces. “I figured they were better off. Like you said, I can’t remember the day they left, I only have Steve’s word and Steve doesn’t lie. But…Peggy needs me. She needs somebody who can understand what it’s like to grow up…different. Special, even.”

“So, your daughter needs you now that she’s special, but when she was six months old, or two years old, or the time she broke her arm last year—she didn’t need you then?”

Tony’s lawyer objects, and Sam withdraws the question.

“No further questions.”

* * *

Sam calls Steve the Friday after Tony’s testimony. 

“Is Peggy with Nat tonight?”

“Yeah. They have an Auntie and Me self defense class.”

“That is not a thing.”

“No,” Steve laughs. “But that’s what Natasha calls teaching Peggy martial arts on Friday nights.”

“Your kid beat up an eleven-year-old with a textbook. She doesn’t need _martial arts_.”

“Yeah, do you wanna explain that to Nat? Because I definitely don’t.”

“Come meet me for a drink. I’ve got lawyering to do, and then I can put on my best friend hat.”

“Yeah, okay.”

 

Sam’s waiting for him with two beers and a grim expression, which Steve takes for a bad sign. 

“They wanna cut a deal.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yeah, they can. You don’t have to take it, but I’m legally required to lay it out for you.”

Steve takes a long pull on his beer. “All right then, Wilson, lay it out.”

“Joint custody, alternating weeks. Stark gets the Jewish holidays, you get the Catholic ones—

“Jewish? Since when?”

Sam snorts. “Maybe he found God in rehab, maybe he figures it just gets him more time with the kid, how the hell should I know?”

“Sorry, continue.”

“You’re not gonna like this next part.”

“I already don’t like any of this.”

“Well, you’re gonna like this even less, then. Xavier.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Steve has a sudden urge to throw his beer bottle across the room, just to hear it shatter. “So he gets literally everything he wants and I get Christmas?”

“And Easter.”

“I hate this deal.”

“I love this deal.”

Steve frowns, because there’s no way Sam should love any deal that doesn’t end with Steve keeping Peggy seven days a week, three-hundred sixty-five days a year. It dawns on him slowly. “They think they’re gonna lose.”

Sam nods, but his expression stays grim, and the other shoe drops for Steve.

“You think we’re gonna lose.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighs. “I do. Pierce is old school. It’s already way outside his comfort zone, hearing a custody case between two dads. Tony has unlimited resources and you were dumb enough not to take him for half when you got divorced. Old boy’s going to side with the money, no matter what.”

“So, what, you think I should take this?”

“I don’t know, Steve.” Sam shakes his head. “I’m gonna put on the best friend hat now and say something else you probably don’t want to hear.”

“Great.”

“You and Tony don’t need lawyers for this, although I’ll keep going if you decide this is how you wanna play it. You guys never did any good with go-betweens. Any time somebody tried to play mediator in one of your fights you both just dug in harder. The only thing that worked was just getting you two in a room together and making you hash it out.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

Sam shrugs. “I’m not saying you have to. But I had a front row seat for the Stark-Rogers courtship, marriage, and divorce. You’re both stubborn as hell when you’ve got a grudge to hold, and you’ve been nurturing this particular grudge right alongside your kid.”

“I think it’s more than a grudge, Sam.”

“Yeah, all right. I’m not saying Tony deserves anything less than what he got, and whether he deserves to be around now is secondary to the fact that he’s back with a vengeance, since that asshole judge already put him back in contact with Peggy. She’s in the middle of this no matter what, so it’s gonna be a lot easier on everybody if you two can find a compromise you can both live with. I don’t think it’s this shitty deal, but there’s middle ground somewhere.”

* * *

Steve doesn’t call ahead. He has a key from bringing Peggy for her weekend visits, and he knows if he thinks too much about this he’ll probably lose his nerve. 

Tony’s not in his apartment though, and it takes Steve a second, but he gets back on the elevator and, steeling himself for the idiocy he always feels talking to nobody, says, “Hey Jarvis, is Tony in the lab?”

“Good evening, Captain,” Steve winces. He forgot Jarvis always used his rank. It became something of a joke between him and Tony, Steve always asking Jarvis to call him something else, and Tony constantly overruling it. “He is in the lab. Shall I let him know you’re on your way down?”

“Uh, no, Jarvis, thanks. I’ll surprise him.”

Steve shouldn’t have this much access to Jarvis anymore, Tony should’ve gone back and erased Steve’s clearances. 

But he didn’t, obviously. 

The elevator doors slide open to a glass vestibule. Tony’s leaning on one of the work tables, frowning down at a 3D schematic for…something. Steve’s not up on what Stark Industries is working on these days. Tony got out of the weapons business after Afghanistan, and had been on an arc reactor kick for almost as long as Steve knew him, but it was a project that seemed to constantly take two steps forward and three steps back.

“Hey,” he says, pushing the door open, and Tony startles.

“Jesus. What are you doing here? Is Peggy okay?”

“Yeah. She’s fine. Natasha teaches her krav maga on Friday nights.”

“I…don’t even know how to process that sentence.”

“Yeah, me either.” Steve agrees. “But she likes it, and loves Natasha, and I think Natasha might kill me in my sleep if I tried to stop her, so…”

“You have terrifying friends, you know that, right? You’ve _always_ had terrifying friends. I honestly thought Barnes was going to break my face the night I asked you out.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bucky was pretty impressed you still went through with it, honestly.”

“So am I.” Tony grins. “He was six-two and solid muscle and I was five foot nine,” Steve shoots him a look, “okay, eight, of MIT scientist. _And_ I was recovering from heart surgery. The fact that I didn’t run screaming in the other direction is testament to my deep-seated disregard for my own personal safety. And, you know, you.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that, so he rolls his eyes instead. “You’re five-six on a _good_ day, Tony. If Peggy’s short it’ll be all your fault.”

Tony’s grin slides off his face. “What happened to ‘we don’t know for sure’?”

“What happened to ‘it doesn’t matter whose DNA she gets, she’ll always be ours’?”

“I think it walked out the door with you six years ago, along with ‘in sickness and in health, for better or for worse’ and all the other promises we made that were apparently just bullshit.”

Steve actually takes a step back from the force of Tony’s sudden anger. He should’ve expected it, they never actually _talked_ to each other when he left, just sent papers back and forth via lawyers and built up resentment like a wall between them.

“What do you _want_ , Steve?” Tony drops any pretense of working and steps away from the work bench, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sam brought me the deal.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to take it, I know you better than that.”

“Then why offer?”

“The lawyers figure I don’t have a chance in hell of winning. Not after our old pal Sam tore me a new one on the stand this week. I really liked him trotting out my PTSD; that wasn’t common knowledge but now it’s public fucking record.”

Steve frowns. “I didn’t tell him to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell mine to turn it into an episode of Jerry Springer, but...lawyers.”

Steve drags a hand over his face. “Look, your lawyers think you’re going to lose and Sam thinks I’m going to lose and the only way I see this going ends up with Peggy losing so can we just ditch the lawyers and figure this out together?”

Tony looks at him for a long moment and then sighs heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do that. Just...not here.”

He follows Tony back out of the lab, but instead of punching the up button on the elevator, Tony chooses down.

“Conference room. Neutral.”

“This is your building.”

“Do you think I spend any time in the conference rooms?”

“Good point.”

The hallways are dark and Tony flicks on lights as they go. It’s strange to see this piece of the tower, the generic, corporate floors that could belong to any office building in Midtown. The conference room has a table for twelve and an entire whiteboard wall.

Tony picks up a marker and starts writing.  _Steve_ , he writes on the left side of the board. _Tony_ , he writes on the right.

“Non-negotiables?” 

“Xavier.” Steve says, and Tony scowls, but writes it under Steve’s name. Under his own, he writes _PS 8._  

“Drinking.” Steve adds. He expects another dirty look, but instead Tony adds it under his own name, before putting _Tony’s drinking_ in the Steve column.

Steve’s surprised to find there’s not much else he’s unwilling to be flexible on. 

“Christmas?” Tony asks. 

“Do you mean Hanukkah?” Steve says drily.

Tony shrugs. “I’m open to either.”

“You’re not Jewish.”

“I _could_ be.”

“You’re not fooling me. You love Christmas, and Peggy’s only got a few Santa years left. We can trade Christmases.”

And birthdays, Easters, summer vacations. 

“Let’s just talk about the elephant in the room.” Steve sighs. “I don’t understand why you want her in a place like Xavier. Six years old, in class with kids twice and three times her age, solving math problems all day and never getting to have a normal childhood.”

“What is a _normal_ childhood, Steve?” Tony frowns. “You spent yours in and out of hospitals, I spent mine mostly left on my own until I went to MIT. She’s already seeking out the knowledge, she clearly wants to learn—

“She also wants a piano and a dog and ice cream for dinner, she’s _six_. I want her to have the childhood we didn’t have. She should have friends her own age, and join the Girl Scouts or play soccer or learn the violin...she has her entire life ahead of her to do math or physics or engineering, whatever. She only gets about ten more years to be a kid.”

“Her brain is so elastic right now. The amount she could learn...it’s staggering.”

“I know that, Tony, I’ve seen it up close since she started to talk, practically. But all I can think about is what you said before she was born.”

Tony frowns. “What did I say?”

“You said from the minute he figured out what you could do, that’s all you were to your father, his prodigy son to trot out at parties, to turn into a carbon copy of himself. You didn’t get to play Little League or join a band or go to prom. I don’t want that for Peggy.”

“You think that’s what I’m trying to do?”

“That’s not what I said. But, Tony, you _begged_ me not to let you become your father. You made me promise—

“Jesus, Steve, _that’s_ the promise you decided to take seriously?”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same, if it was reversed? That you would’ve risked Peggy’s safety for anything?”

“I need a break.” Tony says. “Air. Something.”

Tony pushes past him, and Steve doesn’t follow. After twenty minutes, though, he starts to worry.

“Jarvis?” He tries. 

But Jarvis is either ignoring him or is only in Tony’s living spaces. Steve goes back to the elevator and rides it up to the penthouse again. 

He finds Tony sitting in Peggy’s room. He sits on the bed next to him.

“I don’t know why things got as bad as they did once she was born.” Tony says. “My therapist thinks it was because I never really dealt with any of it properly the first time around, so I didn’t have any healthy coping skills when things got harder. My sponsor thinks it’s because nobody can predict what kind of shit having a baby is going to drag up. It was just...every time I fell asleep, I was there. I was in that fucking cave, hooked up to that car battery, knowing SI wasn’t going to pay a ransom and knowing I needed to find a way out on my own or accept the fact that I was going to die there.

“And then it wasn’t just nightmares. It was flashbacks and panic attacks and of course I went back to drinking, because that was all I did to cope the first time.”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“We were both run ragged, I couldn’t put another thing on you.”

“Tony.” Steve can’t help it, he reaches and puts his arms around Tony, pulls him tight against his side. “You were drinking, and you weren’t saying anything, and every time I tried to ask you deflected, and I just thought...it was like all of a sudden you didn’t care. I figured you regretted having a baby and you didn’t want to say it, or that—

“That I was a chip off the old block. I know what it looked like, Steve. I can’t imagine getting home to find our baby girl sick and crying and me just...out. But I was mixing alcohol and Xanax by then, so I believe you. I have to believe you.”

“I should’ve said something. I should’ve made you talk to me.”

“Hey,” Tony frowns, and curls a hand around Steve’s face, holding him so Steve will meet his eyes. “I’m responsible for that. I made a lot of terrible choices and I didn’t give you much room to do anything but get Peggy out of there. And I’m so glad you did, Steve. I was a mess, I still have nightmares of what could’ve happened if you didn’t. It took me eighteen months to quit drinking for good. I almost called you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Tony shrugs. “I ruined everything. What right did I have to show up almost two years later? I thought it was more fair to let you move on.”

Steve snorts. “Right. Of course you did.”

“I’m not crazy to think that’s what you wanted. You served me with divorce papers.”

“I know, but I didn’t think you’d _sign them_!” Steve only realizes the words are true as they’re leaving his mouth. Tony stares at him. Steve lets go of Tony and buries his face in his hands. “I didn’t want you to sign them, I wanted you to come fucking find me, fight me, whatever. I didn’t...I didn’t know how to come back. But you did sign them, so I knew you didn’t want me to.”

“New rule.” Tony says, looking wild-eyed. “No more lawyers. Ever.”

And then he’s grabbing the front of Steve’s t-shirt, hauling him close, kissing him hard. 

This is a bad idea, he _knows_ it’s a bad idea, but Steve leans into it anyway, curls his hands around Tony’s hips and pulls him into his lap. Tony grins against his mouth, pushes on Steve’s chest and follows him down. For a long time Steve doesn’t care about anything except the weight of Tony’s body on his, the feel of Tony’s lips and tongue and teeth on his mouth and face and neck. 

Tony bites Steve’s collarbone, and tugs ineffectually on Steve’s shirt. Steve pulls back, his head thudding onto the soft mattress and frowns.

“We can’t do this,” he says. Tony freezes, looking down at him with worried eyes, his mouth already open to protest. “Here, I mean. This is our kid’s room.”

A wicked grin spreads across Tony’s face. “Race you to my bedroom, then.”

“Well, that’s not fair, I don’t even know where it is.” Steve says, but he takes off running after Tony anyway.

* * *

“Don’t look at me like that.” Tony says. His eyes are closed, his head on Steve’s chest and his arm around Steve’s waist. It’s almost too warm like this, his sweat-slick body wrapped around Steve’s, but Steve’s not interested in moving.

“I’m not looking at you any particular way.”

“Yes, you are. Stop thinking like that, while you’re at it.”

“I need to get home soon. We need to talk first.”

“Those are the sorts of thoughts I mean.”

“Tony.”

Tony sighs, and opens his eyes. He crawls up to put his head on the pillow next to Steve’s, close enough that their noses almost touch. 

“All right,” Tony says. “Let’s talk.”

“I can’t just jump back into this with you.”

“I know. Peggy.”

“It’s not just Peggy.” Steve frowns. “We moved too fast, last time. Bucky died, and you were the only bright spot I had, and I think I burned it out, wanting too much too fast. I loved you so fucking much I was terrified of what would happen if I lost you too, so I said yes to everything that made us feel permanent.”

“I did the same,” Tony says. “When I was in that cave, I realized I had almost nothing of significance in my life. Nothing real. And then I met you, and I finally understood what I’d been missing…I wanted to be with you all the time. I _still_ want to be with you all the time.”

“Me too.” Steve admits. “But I think we gotta take it slow.”

“I can do slow.” 

“Yeah?”

Tony nods. “Clearly neither of us can be trusted with rushed decisions, it seems to just land us in lawyers’ offices.”

“Speaking of,” Steve sighs heavily. “We still didn’t decide what to do about Peggy.”

“I have an idea.” Tony says. “A compromise. You’ll like it.”

* * *

Steve leans against the wall outside the lecture hall, waiting. A few of the students who walk past nod at him—he’s enough of a fixture here on Tuesdays and Thursdays that he’s become recognizable. He recognizes some of them too, although it’s harder since they all seem to wear identical black thick-framed glasses and have the same silver computers and carry the same reusable water bottle. 

For the first few weeks he stayed for the whole two-hour lecture, sitting in the front next to Peggy, pretending he understood everything the professor was saying. Then, as her classmates got used to sharing space with an elementary schooler, he moved to the back of the lecture hall, and now he usually just drops her off and goes for a run, or picks up groceries, or meets Sam for breakfast.

Last semester, she took Calculus for Engineers with the freshmen. This semester she’s taking Linear Algebra and Differential Equations, and most of her classmates are sophomores. She _loves_ it, comes out of class grinning almost every time, and Steve figures that even if Tony was wrong about a lot at least he was right about this.

The clock ticks over to eleven, and he can hear the sound of chairs scraping inside the lecture hall. The door swings open and a few students hurry out, clearly on their way to their next class. Peggy appears about five minutes later, flanked by two girls, who both smile at Steve.

“See you Tuesday, Peggy,” says one of them. She’s petite and Indian, wearing an NYU sweatshirt. The other, tall and curly-haired, gives Peggy a hug before they both turn toward the exit. 

“Bye Helen, bye Ananya.” Peggy waves as they go.

Peggy grabs his hand and they follow behind the other girls. Once Helen and Ananya are out of earshot, Peggy squeezes his hand and grins up at him.

“Helen thinks you’re cute. She asked me if you’re single, and if you are can I introduce you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “What did you tell her?”

“That you’re gay, duh. She was disappointed. But then she said she has an uncle you might like.”

Steve laughs, “Of course she does.”

Steve pushes open the door, and Peggy says, “Dad.”

“What, Peg?”

“No, _Dad_.” She points, and Steve looks. Tony leans against his car, more or less incognito in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt although the car is the new Tesla so it’s attracting plenty of attention on its own. Peggy runs ahead and Tony scoops her up easily, hugging her tight. 

“Thought you guys might like a ride,” Tony says, shifting Peggy to his hip so he could lean in to kiss Steve. 

“Thought you were supposed to be in a meeting until noon.” 

“Would you believe it if I told you we finished early?”

“No,” Peggy and Steve say together.

“Okay, I admit it, I ditched. But Aunt Pepper has everything under control. And we’ve got somewhere a little more important to be.”

“Yeah, dumb school.” Peggy pouts.

“It’s not dumb,” Steve protests.

“Compared to Tandon it is.” Tony smirks. “Besides, we’re not going to dumb school today.”

“We’re not?” Peggy frowns. “We never skip dumb school.”

“Can we stop calling it dumb school? Peter isn’t dumb. Miss Sharon and your other teachers aren’t dumb.”

“Principal Hawley is dumb.” Tony says.

Steve sighs. “No argument there.”

“Fine,” Peggy rolls her eyes, a move one-hundred percent learned from Tony. “We never skip third grade. Where are we going?”

“Well, Peg, Dad and I decided it’s time to make it official. Again. We’ve got a twelve-thirty wedding at the courthouse.” 

“Really?” Peggy beams. “Can Nick Furry come?”

“Check the backseat,” Tony says, setting Peggy down so she can scramble into the car.

“You sure about this?” Steve asks, sliding his arms around Tony’s waist. “Peggy’s friend Helen has an uncle I might like, if not.”

“No deal,” Tony grins. “We’re doing this. In front of a justice of the peace and your terrifying friends and Rhodey and Pepper and our daughter.”

“And Nick Furry, of course.”

“Of course. Although Peggy _might_ have to smuggle him in in her backpack. Or do you think people would believe he’s my emotional support animal?”

Steve laughs and pushes Tony against the car so he can kiss him. 

Peggy rolls the window down. “Ugh, does getting married mean you’re going to kiss in front of my schools all the time?”

“Yeah,” Tony says.

“It does,” Steve agrees.


End file.
